Dear Fantasy Football Players Who Had Me On Their Roster,
I’m so sorry for what happened mid-season. I know I let you all down, and I really can’t apologize enough. I know there are people out there, good people, who were depending on me to get them an easy extra 25 points for the week. And when my leg broke in the fourth play of the first quarter, that ruined a lot of players’ matchups.
And I’m so sorry for that. The moment my femur snapped in half and I fell to the ground, sandwiched between a cornerback and a safety, my leg underneath my torso, supporting the weight of all three men, all I could think was, “My god, this is going to ruin so many lineups.”
Many of you needed me and I just couldn’t come through. I hung my head in shame as they carted me off the field, the skin underneath my kneecap broken by the giant shard of leg bone poking through it. The season is over now, but my humiliation isn’t. Who knows how many people were unable to make it to Fantasy-playoffs because of that one game? The doctors performed emergency surgery on my leg, but no one could perform emergency surgery on my regret.
Because of me, someone’s Fantasy-season may have been ruined. Maybe they never got their chance to hoist up their Fantasy-trophy and yell with triumph, “I did it!”
That night, that fateful evening where I lay on my back in the locker room, trainers and doctors agonizing over my leg, I agonized over you. All I care about was all the Fantasy Football players who were upset that I had caused them a loss.
As you all go to bed next to your Fantasy-wife, cursing my name for costing you a Fantasy-championship that will absolutely still mean something next year, take solace in the fact that my injury means I’ll more than likely never be anywhere near a football again.
And that’s exactly what I deserve. After all, I let you down. Who cares what happens to me now? Your Fantasy-hopes are more important than my future, than my life, than the lives of those who depend on me. I salute you, player. You have spent countless hours memorizing stats and practicing insults to call your league-mates.
You root for your picks even when they play against your favorite team. You are the faithful, the players who cheer for us no matter what. Until you trade us. Then you hate us. But to be fair, we exist to entertain. Your insults are a part of that entertainment process.
My life wasn’t complete when I got my first or even my second Super Bowl Ring, despite the fact that they’re real objects I can put on whenever I want. It was when I helped my first Fantasy Football player win a non-existent trophy and $200 from his friends.
When I saw an entire forum dedicated to my failure, I shed tears of inadequacy. I know I am not just a failure as a football player, but also one as a person. And apparently I’m a sexual failure too. That came up a lot in the forum. I’m not sure how the two are tied together, but it must be true, because you all say it a lot.
As I go to bed tonight next to my Brazilian model wife, I’ll think of you all. I’ll embrace her and pretend I’m embracing you. I’m going to live all aspects of my life centered around you Fantasy Football players, because that’s what you expect from me.
Sincerely,
Every Injured Athlete Ever
Rich Solomon can be reached at R.Solomon14@gmail.com